


No Name Girl's Scrubbed Scrolls

by oh_THAT_Keara



Category: 13th Century CE RPF, Mongolian History RPF
Genre: Abduction, Anal, Asphyxiation, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Demonic Possession, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loss of Virginity, Madness, Magical Healing Vagina, Multi, Narcissism, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Shamanism, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_THAT_Keara/pseuds/oh_THAT_Keara
Summary: No Name Girl is a 13th century secret agent for the Mongol Empire. Her history, like the Mongols' in general, is secret. The raciest parts of her history are so secret that the scrolls they were written on were scrubbed and used for other things. Modern technology can recover all kinds of things people thought they'd gotten rid of, though, including antiquarian smut.If the M-rated "Secret History of No Name Girl" stories (beginning with "Losing It In Anatolia") don't get steamy enough for you, here's a collection of scenes they skip and gloss over. They don't affect the plot or reveal anything surprising about the characters, though, so if you aren't craving explicit descriptions of the sex, you can skip all these and not miss anything.(It was almost called "No Name Girl: The Stuck-Together Pages." Aren't you glad it's not?)





	1. After the end of _Losing It In Anatolia_ Chapter 40

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion to the "Secret History of No Name Girl" series. It's my answer to "what the fuck do I do about erotica in a work where it's less than half of the plot?" 
> 
> In all my other writing, I just wussed out and skipped it. These characters (as voices in my head - doesn't every writer get those?) refused to let me off that easily. Possibly it's because, in the Turkish historical TV show that inspired me to start writing No Name Girl, no one on screen even kisses on the lips! All the heat --- and there was plenty --- had to be conveyed through smoldering glances and allegorical words. Maybe the characters (who may resemble, but are not, the actors portraying them, just so we're clear) were frustrated with all those restrictions. Maybe they saw in me, the USA, and the World Wide Web a second chance to show the world how sexy they really could be.
> 
> Here was the snag: My Muse was also dumping a ton of out-of-bed plot on me, as well as depth and facets for the characters beyond what was seen on TV. I have faith that it isn't impossible to craft a story that mixes sex scenes with an equal or greater number of other-stuff scenes and captivates me all the way through. I use the word "faith" because I've never actually seen it happen! Either the characters and plot grab me by the heart and brain but the sex scenes feel like speed bumps, or the sex scenes grab me (somewhere else) and everything in between tastes like Styrofoam (TM) packing peanuts. 
> 
> Maybe it's rare to find an author who writes really well about both sex and "other stuff" AND has a knack for transitioning the reader between them. Maybe our society creates this Great Divide in storytelling by physically, mentally, and emotionally separating sex from the rest of life (and maybe the trade-off is worth it; I don't presume to know). Maybe it's only that a reader's brain functions differently when that reader is sexually aroused than when that same reader is not.
> 
> This collection of isolated vignettes is for those of you "playing at home." 
> 
> Please note that, like the main stories, these snippets are:  
> 1\. FANTASY. There is no suggestion that anyone real ever did any of these things, and certainly no suggestion that YOU should.  
> 2\. Set in the 13TH CENTURY CE. A lot of sex was unsafe. (A lot of life was unsafER).

Never in his life had the aristocratic general Baiju Noyan been a patient man. The months he had spent bashing skulls against damned stubborn Turkmen in the Anatolian wilderness, straining his sanity to the breaking point, had seemed endless. But today... today his Khagan Ogedei had awarded him the only supply of thundermix for hundreds of miles, delivered by some sort of certified virgin whose flower of maidenhood was his to pluck if he chose. Well, of course he did! Why even ask?

She was also supposed to be some kind of secret agent, and a shaman, and blah blah blah he hadn’t really been listening and right now he didn’t care. If it was important she could repeat it later. Right now he was discovering that delight boosted his natural impatience just as much as fury had. He’d flung her face-down on the bed. With his bare hands he ripped her dress, then the tunic underneath, straight up the back from hem to neckline. In his enthusiasm he’d practically shredded her clean, plain smallclothes. 

Her revealed skin was the color of milk tea. The graceful compound curves of her ass nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Kneeling, he caught hold of her hips and hauled her onto him bottom-first. His formidable phallus strained toward her like a racehorse that had seen the finish line. Its head parted her soft nether petals and slid into her snug vestibule… only to be thwarted by a flexible but stubborn barrier. 

He pushed harder, and harder again, but still made no progress. If any doubt had ever crossed his mind that she was the genuine article, it was gone now. None had entered here before him. But he would enter tonight. The challenge had only redoubled his resolve. 

To her credit, she had not cried out or complained. Instead she had found his spare sword-belt by the head of the bed, doubled over its thick strap, and taken it between her teeth. She’d probably had her patients do likewise while she dug arrowheads out of their flesh. 

As loath as his rigid branch was to retreat, he needed to investigate. He pulled out and explored her downy rift with the pad of his thumb, as gently as he could manage. She caught her breath and ground back against him. Her delicate petals had begun to blush, burgeon, and produce their own dew, but clearly much more moisture was needed. He spread her outer folds with his hands, marveling at the grace and mystery of her structures. Then he laid the flat of his tongue against them, letting his saliva inundate the area. 

Normally he found such practices moderately distasteful, but this woman’s fragrances and flavors were light and clean and delectable. _She will never again be exactly like this_ , he realized. _I will change her inside._ Curious, he extended his tongue into her interior and felt for the bulwark that stood against him. There it was. He teased at it, drenched it. Then he straightened up, took her by the hips again, and gave his eager manhood its head. 

His third stroke tore through her seventh veil and plunged into her to the hilt. There was no feeling on earth like it. She did cry out then, and drenched him with a warm wave they rode together. He smelled copper, brushed a finger across the edge of their intersection and put it to his mouth. _Blood and woman. My favorites._ Feeling his body begin to build toward its finishing frenzy, he ran his hands over every part of her he could reach. As his thrusts accelerated and intensified, he rested his palm on the soft cushion above her pubic bone, with one finger tip on either side of the fleshy primrose bud he found below. She bucked with the intensity of the sensation, vocalizing in a language of distant stars, her passageway snapping and crackling around him, until he released his own deluge with a roar and they both were swept away.


	2. After the end of _Losing It In Anatolia_ Chapter 43

Baiju hung suspended in an unfamiliar sensory limbo. His climax, as he’d anticipated, had been a pure blaze of glory. Then his wings dissolved and he fell… but not all the way to the ground. He’d had light landings before, but never stayed in midair like this.

As could often happen with virgins, the characteristic tightness that had been so irresistibly provocative on the way up began to feel overcrowded, even dismissive on the way down. Then, just when he was resigning himself to withdrawing, she had done… _that_. Changed her interior shape somehow so that the pressure on every part of him was just right, rather like new boots that had been soaked until pliant and worn until dry. 

_Wow_. Could all women do that, and most men just gave up too soon to find out? Or was it just this one: Some shamanic trick? Was she even human? 

Yes, she was. She must be. No non-human creature of the worlds above or below could possibly have an ass like this. Under a peevish first impression that she was reasonably nice-looking but no legendary beauty, he hadn’t had much of a look at her before. Now he realized that her rear end was remarkable. Just soft enough. Just firm enough. Perfectly symmetrical. Supporting his hip bones at the ideal angle to alleviate strain on his spine. Its compound curves pleased both the hand and the eye from any and every angle. 

This apex of the Callipygian archetype was made only in Mongolia. Heavens and hells could wail and gnash their teeth until the end of time and never match it. Foreigners tended to credit all the horseback riding, but this young woman, due to the lifelong strictures that fitted her for his bed tonight, had never been on a horse. 

Yes, this was a butt that would not quit. And a good thing too, because he wasn’t about to let it. 

The Wind Horse embodying his soul pranced and snorted eagerly, but he reined it in. He experimentally withdrew just a fraction from her, and her pliant inner passageway seemed to cling and draw him back in. 

He remembered collecting Ulubilge’s supply of entheics after his prized battle-shaman was killed by the Kayis. Some of them improved physical sensation as well as bringing visions. What if he shared one with this woman, who had been trained in the use of such things? She might be less likely to react negatively to any residual pain, which would thwart his short-term plans. Even better, if they made her upcoming experience pleasant enough, it might cleanse her memory of how he had handled her earlier. _The Balashan mixture_ , he thought magnanimously; _expensive, but a highly compelling distraction_. 

They ingested the rosy-scented paste, which smelled far better than it tasted. He slipped a hand around her waist and under her stomach, then up the front of her ribcage. Her breast was a high-set, soft scant handful, its nipple responding to the merest brush of his thumb. She gasped softly as the sensation shot downward along her center meridian to her intersection with him, triggering a quick, hard recoil of her inner muscles that took his breath away. 

He lay his head down on her back and matched her breathing again. She stretched and let a smooth wave of tension and release travel down her back underneath him. When it reached the end of her spine she moved away from him slightly, changed direction without stopping, and returned. In a motion that smoothly matched hers he extended himself fully into her, farther than ever before, until all of his surrounding skin met all of hers and she described with her hips a warm, dewy circle around his rigid axis. He pulled slowly, smoothly out, nearly all the way, raised up slightly, then slowly, smoothly plunged all the way back in. 

He took up a rhythm of long, long strokes as constant and ımplacable as the tide. He denied his body’s increasing urge to accelerate, and he held her down firmly by the upper arms to communicate that she should not interfere with his self-control. It did occur to him that with the internal articulation he’d felt, she could probably interfere even if the rest of her was frozen in a solid block of ice. However, she seemed content to relax, save an occasional appreciative wriggle, and let him lead. At the deep end of every plunge his vulnerabilities came to rest against her warm, creamy, pouting petals. As the entheics washed over them, those repeated touches seemed to blink like a pale beacon indicating their way back to the time-tethered world.


	3. After the end of _Losing It in Anatolia_ Chapter 46

After thoroughly cleaning her thighs and lower belly, he finally zeroed in on her center. Rubbing his face against the fine, silky down of the cushioned upland and outer folds, he hungrily inhaled the mixed scent of blood and woman, which were still damn good even if thundermix might be his new favorite. Then, taking her by the hips whose curvature felt made for his hands, he pulled her onto his tongue. He explored the delicate vestibule of the opening until he found the torn edges of the ragged inner wound, then thoroughly savored the texture of the indelible mark he had made to open her to the experiences of full-fledged womanhood.

She did taste different from the night before: more umami with a subtle tang. The thought intruded that some of that might be from him, but it didn’t detract from his enjoyment. Her warm juices flowed freely for him now and he wanted every last drop. 

She seemed to have nothing to say: only soft whimpers and drawn-out moans as she wriggled and writhed, occasionally giving a little shriek and trying to pull away when the sensations, he supposed, became too intense. _Oh, no, you don’t!_ He held her in place. She was quite strong, but he was still stronger. Controlling her excited him. Could she attack him now, the way she had before? She didn’t seem to want to. _This way,_ he sensed, _this way lies conquest. I’ll show her what a man can do._

With tongue and lips and fingers and thumb (complete with the archer’s ring) he teased and explored and played with everything. He knew he could hurt her if he wanted to, but he also knew she would do her best to hurt him back and the whole game would change in a way that didn’t appeal right now. Her cries were louder and then suddenly muffled; she must have found something to bite again. She shook like an earthquake and gave a long vocalization that seemed to last longer than a single human breath. Her insides contracted so strongly that he wondered if fingers could be broken that way. She pitched and fluttered and there was a sudden rush of dewy liquid everywhere. He didn’t really know what was happening, but his fervent loins knew exactly what they wanted to do about it. 

He rose up like a dread leviathan, swarmed over her torso and sheathed himself hilt-deep in her with a single stroke. No barrier resisted him now. SO wet and SO hot and SO tight and just yielding enough… She took his full length, arching against him and brushing nipples as hard and smooth as glass against his chest. He was reckless and turbulent but so was she, reciprocating him in full measure. She had her head turned away but he made her look at him. When she looked at him it was too much. He locked his lips onto hers and they fell, breathing for each other, clutching and clawing and caressing until he convulsed, peaked, and began the long fall.


	4. After the end of _Losing It In Anatolia_ Chapter 51

He rolled over and slid all the way into her as smoothly as a crocodile into a river. She let out a long, throaty moan and drew her creamy vaginal walls closer in around him. “Yes, feel that,” he murmured to her. “Now you’re broken in a little,”

He licked his thumb, withdrew his cock about halfway, reached down next to it, and with a gentleness that surprised her he began caressing the tightly-furled rosebud of her asshole with the slick, wet thumb while continuing to fuck her pussy with smooth, shortened, teasing strokes. These new sensations from what had been, for her, a strictly utilitarian fixture were a revelation. _Kaushiki said the whole body can become an erogenous zone. What’s next: my cuticles? My eyelashes?_ She wriggled around him eagerly, but he held himself aloof, letting the effects build as he worked on her methodically and, from her viewpoint, without mercy. 

He nipped at her lower lip, not hard enough to really hurt but enough to get her attention. “I’d never expect you to forgive me, though,” he went on in a matter-of-fact tone, “if I let it get _too easy_.” Abruptly and simultaneously he plunged to what felt like an impossible depth inside her and pushed his thumb up to the archer’s ring into her unsuspecting ass. She gasped, shrieked, and bucked. “Relax, jewel,” he purred in her ear, as if he wasn’t battering her like a summer storm. “Breathe. Ride it out. I know so well that you can.” 

She spread her attention throughout her body, loosening its grip on the places that hurt as he backed off and teased her again. Just as she reached a point where she could settle, he plunged deep again. This time it was startling but not overwhelming, and she could feel the beginnings of pleasure inside. 

She released her body a little more, allowing it to improvise its own responses to the enthusiastic attention. It found a rhythm almost immediately and her head tilted back to take in more air on each inhale… but then he went back to teasing again. She instinctively stifled a growl of frustration, then wondered what the point was. This man _knew_ he had her on the hook. He knew more about her body than she wished he did. Who was spying on whom here? Every time he was inside her he gained additional advantage and she kept letting him Not because she was intimidated or inattentive, but because she liked it! She freely admitted that much. 

Suddenly she laughed out loud and threw her arms around his lean, muscular, battle-scarred torso. It interrupted his rhythm, releasing it from his thrall. The hamstring of the leg that was propped on his shoulder stretched further, but her muscles were warmed and forgiving. _Of course_ he was infiltrating her, gathering information, looking for vulnerabilities, and leveraging his own strength and experience to take control of her! It was no less than he’d done to Persia, Georgia and Azerbaijan! It was _What He Did;_ what else could possibly be expected of this kind of person? 

The Eureka moment flew through her mind in a few seconds. That was all it had; if she thought the man with her was about to leave a gap where coherent thought might intrude, she had another think coming. He pulled everything out except mere tips lingering at her sensitive entrances, and went still as stone. He leaned slowly over her heaving chest and drew his tongue across her nipple with excruciating slowness. “You remember what you did to me first thing this morning?” 

”Mm-hmm.” She had no clue where this could be going. 

”Can you cut off my breath like that, except still let me move?” 

”Mm-hmm.” 

”Do it now, and when I spill, let me breathe again.” 

” _What?_ ” 

”You heard me.” 

”Did you hear me say I’m trying _not_ to kill you?” 

”That’s why I trust you. Look, you’re a doctor. You can read body-warnings. If it starts to go too far, end it. But I know it’s not my time to go.” 

Amber eyes searched black ones for a moment. Then she nodded, selected a pair of the etheric leads that stretched between them, and pulled. 

He plunged into her again, this time with a great auric splash. His hips pumped vigorously, but his thumb worked more slowly, stroking along the common wall between her two secret passageways. A sensation began to grow so deep inside her it might have been an involute entrance to another world. To keep herself present with him, she vocalized, and soon found the pitches that affected her sensations. Her climax began to bloom first, urging him on. When his moment came she was sure of it: let him peak, then release him to breathe. 

_We’re on the far side of madness,_ she marveled. _But he’s back... I hear it... And I feel it… Control needs little-death because Control needs to control…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If common sense were actually common, this would go without saying, but (sigh): Erotic asphyxiation? DON'T do it, real live people! There are too many wildcard factors in individual bodies on any given day, so every year people DIE doing this. It's just about the most embarrassing condition for a dead body to be found in (see., e.g., all the jokes about the late actor Keith Carradine in 2005) because there will be no doubt whatsoever about what you were trying to do or your EPIC FAIL to do so.


	5. After the end of _Losing It In Anatolia_ Chapter 57

“Don’t sweat it, Nergui. Every man I’ve ever met says as long as there’s no tooth contact of any kind, there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob.”

Tabby the retired Khongirad concubine had said that back at Dower House 5, in the kind of reassuring tone that always made Nergui’s bullshit detector go off. 

”Violence is Sex’s roommate way down in the red chakra,” Kaushiki the Tantrist explained. “Everything primal lives there unmasked. To find out the nature of someone’s violence, you need to sample the energy right at the source and run it directly through your blue chakra of communication into your visionary indigo chakra, then pay attention to dreams and flashes of insight for the following couple of days.” 

”Got it,” Nergui said. And she did get it. But when she was actually staring down the shaft of it, so to speak, would she be able to go through with it? Or would she choke? 

”State of mind makes all the difference, especially for a beginner,” Meg instructed in her natural teacherly style. “Being in love works wonders for a lot of people, but it isn’t applicable here. Getting all heated up with arousal yourself will get you there, as will many common intoxicants.” 

”If all else fails, you’re a priestess. Make a ritual out of it,” Kraya the former Sukothai hostess suggested. “Forget you’re you and forget he’s him. Be a soul without identity giving reverence to the universal male principle. The abstraction exercise will totally absorb the part of your mind that goes ‘yuck.’” 

”There are so many nodes and meridians here,” Ai-Fan the former Taoist nun pointed out on a porcelain phallus from the Dower House 5 hidden arsenal. “Between your mouth and your hands you have more control over a man’s body during this act than any other. Keep his senses too busy to wonder about that. Things like grabbing your head and jabbing the back of your throat can be fear reactions.” 

”Of course,” Tabby agreed. “It’s surely their favorite thing in the whole world, but some will risk spoiling it just to feel like they’re in charge. Unless being vomited on is their kink; then I guess it wouldn’t be spoiling it.” 

”Are there more of those porcelain ones?” Nergui inquired. “Maybe you-all could demonstrate and I could practice.” If they were modeled after anyone in particular, she didn’t want to know. 

”Good idea,” Meg agreed. “Maybe Joon could bring us a small jar of honey.” 

_Om namaha Shiva_  
_Om namaha Shiva_  


Nergui dropped down off Baiju Noyan’s lap and below the surface of the river. 

_Don't think about it - Do it_  
_Don't talk about it - Do it_  


She didn’t want to suddenly pounce and accidentally trigger any of his fighting reflexes. Nor did she want to dilly-dally around so long she lost her nerve. As a short lead-in she ran her hands up the outside of his shins and thighs --- hairy but not excessively so -- and leaned her head on the inside of his knee. She slid her hands over the tops of his thighs to the inside and underneath. Unhurriedly she let her fingertips find the meridians and light up the junctures. Even in a resting state, there was a lot there. He began to harden, and it accelerated when she softly pressed her lips to the base of the shaft. She slid her lips up the front centerline to the tip several times, opening the chakras in her throat and brow so the energy pooled out beyond the bounds of her body. Periodically she discreetly turned her head to take a sip of air. Occasionally she blew playful bubbles against his flesh.Now she could feel the pool of red chakra around him; good gods, it was huge and bright, not dim and constricted the way her own had been when she started to work with it. The effect was a little dizzying. She began drawing tiny streams of the energy in as she settled her lips over the tip and made some tiny circles. She returned to the front of the base where she’d started, parted her lips, and pressed the tip of her tongue against it. She drew her lips and tongue-tip up the shaft to the front of the tip, repeated the motion on either side of the front centerline and on each side. One hand cupped the testicles to keep them warm in the water, fingers gently preventing them from creeping up too soon. The other hand rested lightly on the back of the shaft, holding it in position as she licked from bottom to top as if playing an exotic organic musical instrument. She explored the varied topography, the ridges and columns and branching espalier blood vessels. She took attenuated peripheral notice of the flavors of meat and salt and river. She swiveled the tip against her lips, then curled her lips back over her teeth and inserted the tip just slightly past it. She licked, curling her tongue around the curvature, then sucked in and pulled her head back to extend its length. She took it in further and swiveled it around the back of her palate. She spread four fingers along the back of the shaft and stroked the front of it with her thumb. Little by little she engulfed more of the length, relaxing her jaws, keeping her tongue active, letting her hand occupy the rest of it. Little by little her movements picked up speed, always lagging just slightly behind the speed she sensed he wanted, until she closed the gap and rapidly drove him to completion. She knew basically what to expect but the pressure and volume were startling. She adroitly opened her lips so the excess escaped discreetly into the current but she couldn’t quite suppress a hiccup and gulp that momentarily diverted some of the energy stream down her throat, where despite all her efforts it splashed onto her heart chakra. _Damn. Gonna have to scrub that._ She surfaced and lay on her back across his lap. 

He lifted her head and pressed his lips to her forehead for several heartbeats, lowered her back down and stroked two fingertips up and down her breastbone over her heart. _I want this too,_ he decided. _I will take it and keep it, and if she is strong she will go on without it._


	6. Chapter 6 after LIIA Chapter 61

He felt every thread of her woolen deel tunic as he pulled it off over her head. All the sensations the warding had blocked, the incense brought back. And more. He trailed her fingertips down from her breastbone to her navel, which he suddenly wished he could fill with a dollop of wild honey, smear it from there to his lips which he would then press to hers. The sensory image was so strong he was almost sure his mustache and beard were sticky. He rotated his wrist so his fingertips could lead his palm down inside her waistband. He spread his fingers apart as they traversed the slight convexity of her lower belly, then brought them together on the upslope of the smaller, firmer silky mound of her sex and over the edge into the multitude of warm folds that were already sopping and slick.

”I love this... _readiness_ for me,” he breathed. 

The murmured ”Only for you, Baiju,” felt so very good as it escaped her lips and took refuge in his ear, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind a warning sounded. 

_(Is she in love with me? Can I be done with her?)_ pestered the voices of old habits in his head. _When I want to be,_ his consciousness dismissed them. _No need for haste._

He wasn’t in the mood for conversations with himself. He needed to drown the voices out. “Come here,” he said rolling off her and sitting her up. They removed each other’s remaining clothing, flinging it around the tent with abandon. In their vision, trails of sparks followed each piece. He placed her on her knees at the end of the bed and slid under her head-first, then grasped her ass-cheeks with spread fingers and pulled he down onto his face. 

_A Mongol is never intoxicated as long as he can hold onto a woman’s ass and not fall off the face of the earth_. 

He reveled and feasted on her. She made all manner of interesting noises, but kept herself raised up a bit as if she worried about suffocating him. He pulled her down, kneading the muscles to urge her to relax. She put both hands on his thighs and slid them up to his perineum, teasing the energy to the surface while her thumbs gently guided his balls down away from his pubic bone. Then she leaned down and did exactly what he dared not hope. He felt her warm, wet tongue alight on his shaft just under the head and move down the center, taking in every detail of the shape and texture. She continued all the way down to the skin of his scrotum and underneath to the perineal ridge, where she lingered to open up yet another new frontier fo sensation. 

How different it felt to work on him with her mouth when she was fully aroused herself! No need for a psychological “running start;” it all felt natural and even imperative. His lascivious tongue on her most sensitive places drove her half out of her mind with desire and she couldn’t get enough of him. When she felt a drop of liquid emerge at the tip that was pressed against her breastbone, she rose up like a cobra spreading its hood and dove down to take it into her mouth and swallow it. She moved up and down over the flange in a rhythm that soon grew frantic while his tongue relentlessly swirled over her clitoris and his fingers explored her… _caverns measureless to man_ (where had that come from?). As she climaxed, she took him in as far as she could, relaxing her throat and breathing through her nose. He arched, stiffened, and erupted, but so far behind the root of her tongue that she swallowed it easily without tasting it. The feeling of victory was exhilarating. Her own nectar sprayed out in a deluge that she worried might drown him. Where did it all come from? 

Before he subsided completely, he rolled her off of him, swapped the position of his head and feet, grasped her body to his, and inserted himself into her warm, drenched snugness. And there they stayed.


	7. Chapter 7 after LIIA Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I try my hand at USA-style hetero-guy "pr0n" just for a change of pace. What can I say --- blame it on Walpurgisnacht!

The girl from the village wore heavy makeup applied with more enthusiasm than expertise. It was the way she did most things, but her tender age glossed it over with artless rustic charm.

Baiju Noyan sat on the edge of the bed, scowling on general principles. The girl gave him her rendition of a seductive smile that didn’t quite obliterate the resting sneer of her full, fleshy lips. “The headman said if I make you happy we can have an extra month to pay our taxes. Is that true?” she asked, slowly pulling out the bow at the neckline of her cloak.

The general of the conquering army nodded, but still the girl hesitated. “Yes,” he confirmed aloud.

“Well, all right, then,” the girl said. Under the hood of her cloak and the veil, her hair was teased into a voluminous cloud. She undid the drawstring gathering the neckline of her faded homespun blouse, pulled the blouse down, and pulled out two burgeoning breasts for his inspection. “Do you like my big titties?” she asked him, squeezing them together with her hands, then bouncing them up and down. A wayward breeze stiffened the small, defiant nipples in their big pinkish-brown areolas. 

Her titties were indeed big, and he did like them. He beckoned her closer.  He squeezed and kneaded those thoroughly likeable big titties, licking and sucking the upstanding nipples, pausing only to take one of her somewhat callused hands and put it down the front of his leather trousers. She softly, slowly stroked the ponderous fleshy shapes her fingers found. He put her hand over hers to demonstrate the pressure and speed he desired. The scent of her sweat was earthy with a hint of bovine that brought to mind bucolic pastures and the distant sound of brass bells.

After a while he pulled his leather breeks down to free his hardening cock. Her hand trembled slightly as she assessed its length, breadth, and shape; she seemed to think about saying something and then decide against it. She knelt down in front of him and wrapped her hand around the shaft of his cock and pulled the skin down over the meat until the foreskin was fully retracted. She leaned over and spit several times on the exposed glans, then wrapped her lips loosely around it and began to bob her head up and down while working in concert with her hand. She kept up a steady pace, pausing now and then to spit more lubricating saliva on it. 

Down and up, down and up, down and up went her mouth on his cock. He leaned back and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, breathing more rapidly, occasionally --- but not very often ---- flinching when he momentarily felt the edge of a tooth.  He held her head still and began thrusting into her mouth, first conservatively and then more vigorously until he felt her gag involuntarily; then he pulled out.

She pulled up her skirt and straddled him. She took the front hem of the skirt in her teeth, partly to bite on and stifle any cries, and partly to give him an unobstructed view of her pussy as they fucked. She had either been shaved, or her pubic hair was very fine and pale, revealing that she had almost no vulva around her vagina; her pussy was as hairless and featureless as a dolphin’s blowhole. She spit in her hand a few times and rubbed it on herself, then guided the tip of his cock to the entrance of the hole in her pussy. 

Not waiting for her to descend, he thrust his hard cock into her wet pink pussy. She gave a little squeal, muffled by the folds of fabric on which she bit down. He took hold of her small hips, splaying his long fingers over her flat buttocks, and thrust again and again, in and out, in and out, in and out. Completely unrestrained, her big titties caromed and ricocheted with every impact. 

Each friction-laden stroke made the shaft of his cock tingle all around its circumference, the head swelling as the heat built up, his balls aching, his sack contracting. In and out of that streamlined minimal just-barely-a-pussy, in and out and in and out and in and out  _ and out _ ! He threw her down on the bed and finished himself off, his cock spurting thick pearly cum all over those big, big titties and her already-smeared face paint. She opened her mouth and put out her little wet pink tongue as if to catch snowflakes.  And she  _ said not…. a single…. word _ .  


	8. Chapter 8 after LIIA Chapter 77

The Noyan felt certain he’d been right to tell the Khagan’s Agent that his most personal heart of hearts was outside the scope of her investigation and none of her business.After what appeared to be a brief mental recalculation, she’d conceded. She’d been sent to restore his fighting edge. Various mental torments had definitely figured in its loss. Whether or not he had ever experienced the emotion of love might help narrow down the diagnosis, the remedy, or both --- “but,” she’d shrugged, “if it bothered him she’d just see how far she got without it.”

It was that kind of reasonable, considerate equanimity that really provoked him sometimes. If she’d hound and badger him just a little, he could crash down on her like a calving glacier and show her who was boss, thereby temporarily purging his soul of a hundred petty ambient ills. As it was,though, he had no one but the enemy to go to for a good fight. 

Inside his mind, the plan had made sense. Go to Gonchagul’s Grotto to refresh his memories of that short-lived maybe-romantic affair. Transfer those re-created sense memories to his shamanic healer through intimate body contact and the resulting blended kundalini. Let her, with her advanced training, sort it all out and answer the question that had been needling him without end ever since he’d forbidden her to ask it and she’d reacted as if it didn’t matter. 

He suspected it was much more likely to snare her interest than a simple “Let’s go someplace different and fuck.” And as far as he could tell, it was her interest --- both in sex and in him --- that made all that indescribable difference. How appropriate that Gonchagul’s name meant “rosebud;” the woman with him now had a rosebud that had never been opened and the sympathetic-magic leverage would be huge. He’d even thought to warm a vial of almond oil inside his shirt, to help effect a bloodless coup. 

Now, sensing her unease in the glittering bower he’d constructed for his late semblant lover --- comparing it to the battered army tent he kept her in, perhaps? --- second thoughts lurked perilously near. No, he decided, he wasn’t seeing envy or resentment. A kind of wariness, perhaps. The circumspection of a small predator scenting an unknown carnivore. Gone, or still here? Stronger, or weaker? 

She disrobed, but not with the speed and enthusiasm he’d sometimes seen. When he reached for her and drew her back against him, the touch of her skin soothed his many scars, but underneath it her muscles were tense, as if poised for fight or flight. Could this sumptuous niche be more than a memory-refresher? Could some invisible revenant of Gonchagul still be here? The idea had never occurred to him. 

His grief and rage over Gonchagul’s death had been a lashing tempest. He’d lost no time dispatching her murderer, the escaped prisoner Gokche, along with Gokche’s young hotheaded Alp husband Tugtekin Bey. He’d taken great pains with her Tengric funeral. But he was mildly surprised to realize he’d never taken a Dirt Nap to locate and converse with his lost love. Of course, at the time the spiritual environment had already been bad and worsening. 

To soothe the living woman with him now, he blessed her back muscles with oil and kisses. He stretched out over her, breathing slowly and deeply against her, encouraging her to match his rhythm. With anointed fingertips he stroked, pulled, and coaxed her swelling clitoris from its hood. With other fingers and then with his insistent cock he followed her womanly wetness upstream to its source. When her breathing grew rapid and ragged, he deftly freed one hand while continuing all the other motions, poured a little oil into the inviting valley between her firm, perfectly-shaped hindquarters, and with a single teasing finger began tracing rings around the rosy. 

In climax she bucked and shuddered and let out a kestrel-like cry. His own equilibrium would have been seriously threatened if the dulling, muffling wards were still obstructing his extra senses, but now his perception of her body glowing with diffuse lights in soft colors steadied him. The turbulent involuntary pulsations in her pelvic floor gave him an opening, and he took it. As she slid bonelessly down the other side of the sensory summit, he worked on unlocking her back door with one finger, then two, then three as she breathed deeply and willed herself to relax. Her tightness and smooth, warm inner softness were everything her remarkable curves had seemed to promise. 

The excitement became impossible to restrain any longer. He withdrew from impaling her dripping, throbbing folds and teased his tip against the oiled opening that felt so impossibly small. They both trembled with the effort to maintain control while their nerve endings shot sparks into the night. Then very slowly, feeling his way for the best angle, he entered. She sounded, letting the tone resonate through her entire body to calm any treacherous reflexes and accept him totally. Heat drifted up from her and warmed him. A sweet, earthy, forbidden musk entered his nostrils. He leaned down and rested his forehead between the edges of her shoulder blades. “Your darkness,” he told the nape of her neck, “is delightful.”


	9. 9: After the end of _Washed Up in Ezogashima_ chapter 10

“Pardon me, Khan,” she humbly inquired, “Would you like me to hold onto that scroll-case for you?”

“Scroll-case?”

“The one in your belt. It keeps poking me under the shoulder-blade.”  _ Ow. I could swear it’s gotten bigger and lumpier since the ride started. _

Chagatai leaned down until his whiskers brushed Nergui’s ear and she could hear the rakish grin in his voice. “That’s no scroll case, little one, but you’re welcome to hold onto it anyway.” 

_ Holy sheep shit! That’s his… You’ve got to be kidding me. _

She’d heard stories here and there about men small in stature who were nonetheless endowed with  _ eregtei khunii beleg erkhten  _ large enough to have the entire phrase tattooed on them. Apparently very big men could have very big ones too.

Feeling her startled freeze against his front, he guffawed triumphantly, “Finally, something this unnaturally bold Little Rabbit might be just a little afraid of! Don’t worry. I’ve learned to be oh, so careful.” Without relaxing his grip, he stroked her hair with the knuckles of his other hand. “No, no, no need to fight or flee.” He leaned down again and whispered, though there was no one else around for miles. “You’ll be ready. You’ll want it. You’ll take it all.” He brought his lips to her cheek and held them there deliberately. “And I’ll watch you take it all. And that will make me so happy that my happiness will flood over you and into you. You’ll see”

She felt a rush of warmth as her pelvic floor muscles snapped to attention. She shifted in the saddle and the sensation made her light-headed.

“That’s it. You know, we big fellows learn early how not to break our toys.” He smoothed his hand down her torso, very slowly and just firmly enough. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she felt a strong trust in him.

“But, say now,” he said finally. “You were with Baiju. Do you mean to tell me he has less of that? What’s he like?”

“You mean his --- ”

“His  _ dhanda.  _ His  _ quadibun. _ His  _ yarak.  _ That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Hmm.” She’d never imagined having this conversation. Not even with Tori or the ladies of 

Dower House 5. But, she supposed, wives and husbands were supposed to be able to talk about anything. She closed her eyes and tried to picture it --- but could only call up sort of a blur. “That’s weird. I can’t seem to remember.”

“Tara’s tits! Why do they all say that?” Chagatai burst out, exasperated.

“Pardon?” Nergui had been expecting something like “Yak chips! He was your only one so far! Of course you remember!” The actual response puzzled her.

“I’ve married a couple of Baiju’s exes --- if you can even really call them exes after one or two nights. Short-timers, and really traumatized, so it’s not impossible that they blanked it out. But you --- you spent like a month and a half with him, wasn’t it? That has to be some kind of record. What the hell does he  _ do _ to you girls?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but I’m not sure it was even the same every time.  Sometimes it would seem to change shape ‘during;’ once it even felt forked. I saw him naked in the daytime several times but… did you ever see how blood gets all blurry in Anatolia? It was sort of like that, and sort of like my eyeballs kept sliding away from that whole area. Every time I tried to look I’d find myself looking at the sky or a tree or my own foot.

“The only time I remember very vividly was when he got possessed by the Djinn. That was a big part of what was making him criminally insane. From what I could gather, this Djinn started out guiding Baiju’s battle shaman Ulu Bilge, took him over, then jumped to Baiju when Ulu Bilge was killed, Nasty thing. That Djinn’s battering ram might have given you something to worry about. It wasn’t just really big; it was spiny and kind of glowing green. If I hadn’t gotten pretty good at the Taoist Iron Panties Technique, I might not be talking to you today, unless you held a seance.”

“Shape-changing… I never heard of that!”

“I don’t actually know if it was real or a perception planted in my head. Only Tengri knows the extent of what shamans can do. His level isn’t that high, but he lives so intensely in his groin that he might be unusually gifted in that area. And come to think of it, when the ladies at Dower House 5 showed me their dildo museum, they said they didn’t have one like his because “nobody had one like that.””

“Ugh,” Chagatai shuddered. “All this woo-woo gives me the creeps. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“And that’s plenty intimidating enough,” she reassured him.


End file.
